


The Ring

by Hiver_Noir



Category: The Hitcher (1986)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Stockholm Syndrome, Unhealthy Relationships, rape threat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 14:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22137775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiver_Noir/pseuds/Hiver_Noir
Summary: Not all weddings are a match made in heaven.
Relationships: Jim Halsey/John Ryder
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Proofread by [GoldenHavoc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenHavoc/works?fandom_id=2818614), who also provided the idea behind the text.  
> 

Funny how secrets travel

I'd start to believe if I were to bleed

Thin skies, the man chains his hands held high

Cruise me blond, cruise me babe

A blond belief beyond, beyond, beyond

No return.

The white-hot sun is still at its height, cracking the asphalt open like greasy grains of popcorn, but Jim knows soon enough it will become red and swollen, a bloodshot eye ready to roll across the ragged horizon. He squats in a huge billboard’s shade, looking at the canvas of the road ahead of him: the deep ruptures wrought upon its surface have him think of a pair of broken wings, aiming somewhere in the distance, where the road disappears, climbing up to soar into the skies and the heaven above. Jim doubts anyone can pull that off, however, – even on a strip as seemingly endless as a highway stretched halfway across America. Yet at the same time, he knows it's not his place to judge about such things: if there is a heaven, he is not going there. He takes a lighter out of his pocket and snaps it aimlessly to pass the time. With his head slightly turned, he sets his sight on a tall figure standing not too far in front of him. A gentle breeze tangles in the folds of a black coat, carelessly thrown over the man’s forearm: Ryder stands with his back turned on Jim, and it almost feels like a mockery, – would he have taken Jim’s thoughts and self-esteem in consideration enough to try and offend him. In all the time they've spent waiting by the side of the road, Ryder hasn't spared him a single glance to make sure that Jim is still there, or that he’s not currently sneaking up on him with a sharp shard of glass. Jim knows this is not about trust at all. Even in his own fantasies, he is less and less likely to imagine how he takes a huge cobblestone and swings it at the ashen-blond head to paint it red. He knows he won't do it, but he’s more upset about the fact that Ryder knows it, too. With these thoughts in mind, Jim notices some movement at his feet, and lowers his eyes. He spots a small, dried-up spider, able to fit on a dime with all of its eight limbs. , and his eyes study it with a renewed interest – at least doing so provides him with some sort of an entertainment. The spider moves its long black legs in a careful manner, as if being afraid to stumble sand while it crawls to one of Jim's shoes. The latter clicks the lighter between his fingers, rearing a petal of yellow flame to life. It would be so easy to bring this fire closer to the tiny creature beside his feet, to watch it squirm and shrink beneath the heat, turning to an even darker shade of black. Instead, he brings his foot aside, providing it with more space to move in. If only Jim had a jar in reach, he could have taken the spider along this fucked-up journey so that it would keep him company when he's lonely (and Jim is lonely all the time, if he's being honest). A school friend of his used to have an ant farm, and Jim was madly intrigued by it – there was something utterly fascinating about watching the tiny insects lead their simple lives behind the glass; however, Jim doubts he could find any ants in the desert. Thinking about the matter, he comes to the conclusion that Ryder might have had similar considerations in mind when he decided to bring him along. 

After all, it is never too late to throw a burning match into the jar.

He reaches for the spider and gently taps his fingers on the sand, startling and forcing it to hurry back into the sparse undergrowth and away from the highway.

\- Go back to where you came from, buddy. – Jim mutters softly. – There is nothing for you to find here.

The sound of a stopping car attracts his attention. He raises his head to see a green Plymouth stopping on the side of the road. Ryder already leans against the window, his broad shoulders blocking the driver from Jim's view. With his heart heavily pounding within his chest, Jim watches the man cautiously, paying extra attention not to miss out on anything. The slight turn of Ryder’s head brings a familiar dryness into his mouth.

Ryder has already sent two cars off, but he won't let this one go.

This one, he'll choose. 

Even at a distance, his eyes are unbearably blue when Ryder turns around and waves, compelling him to show himself. Jim picks up his dusty bag from the ground and hurries to the road with his head down. He steps over the cracks in the asphalt as if being bound to them by an unspoken sense of solidarity: he knows, heaven’s not meant for his soul. Stepping forward to stand beside Ryder, Jim avoids looking at the man directly, but that doesn't prevent him from being aware of a light, nearly imperceptible smile blooming on Ryder’s lips as he measures Jim’s body from head to toe. He's about to climb into the back seat behind the passenger when Ryder stops him with a faint movement of his hand. ‘

\- Take the other side, - he says quietly, still eerily smiling. Jim walks around the car without uttering a word. This is odd. Usually it’s Ryder who sits on the driver's side if there's a passenger in the seat next to him.

It's only when he is inside the car that he understands the reason behind this change.

The first thing he sees is a pair of honey-nut eyes. A young woman not older than 25, resides in the front seat, giving him a wide smile.

\- Hi, - she says, reaching out to him, and Jim awkwardly returns the handshake, keeping it as short as possible. Her palm seems unbearably soft underneath his fingers, and he has long forgotten what it's like to touch another person like this. At this moment, the door opens and Ryder claims he seat next to Jim, having the latter release the woman’s hand in a hurry as if he has done something shameful. The car moves on, gradually gaining speed, but the woman in the front keeps observing him. 

\- Avalanche? It's a good choice. But Bob and I, - She nods to the driver with a smile, - are rooting for the Socs.

At first, Jim doesn't understand what she's talking about, but then remembers the emblem on his cap. He gives a brief nod, unsure what to say. Hockey was never his passion. 

\- He's a little shy. I hope you don't mind. - Ryder's voice on the left startles him a bit. His heavy hand pats Jim on the thigh, making him wince. - He's a good boy. Just not very talkative. 

The woman laughs. It sounds like little bells ringing.

\- I have no doubt about that. - She removes an auburn strand of hair from her face, and Jim notices a thin golden ring on her elegant finger. - Where are you two headed to? 

\- Just travelling. Somebody's gotta show this kid the country. Isn't that right, Jim? 

-Yeah. - Jim answers. These moments are always the weirdest, in some ways they are even worse than the murders themselves. There's something surreal about this conversation, like he's caught in the middle of a feverish dream and can't bring himself to wake up. He wonders how long Ryder's planning to pull the comedy this time before he gets to the main - tragic - action. Sometimes, it’s hours. More often – mere minutes. 

\- And what do you do, mister? - The driver finally adds to the conversation. He is a young man, about the same age as his lady companion. The tone of his voice appears friendly, but Jim has the faint notion it's the girl who insisted on picking them up. It's always the gentle ones who suffer the consequence of their own kindness. 

\- Please, just call me John. Car sharing. – Today, Ryder is courtesy itself, it seems. 

\- Really? Maybe we should have rented a car, too. We spent a lot of money on this babe. - He pats the steering wheel in a loving gesture. - What’s happened to you two? 

\- We ran out of gas. Jim was driving, and he didn't notice there’s a leak.

\- Tough luck. - The girl gives Jim a sympathetic look. - I hope you weren't scolding your son too much, John.

\- Of course not. He's young, he'll learn everything in time. I'll make sure of it myself. 

Jim gives Ryder a side glance. The man keeps smiling, all teeth and unsettling companionship. If he notices Jim’s stare, he doesn't show it.

\- Since we have some time on our hands, how about we take you both to a gas station and then drive you back to your car if you’d like us to. We could even drag you to the nearest service. There's a cable in the trunk. – The driver suggests. He must have been pretty convinced by Ryder’s story, or maybe it was his smile alone. A common mistake, Jim muses. And a fatal one. 

\- That would be great.

Ryder reaches out his hand and lowers the peak of Jim’s cap, making it crawl over his eyes. Jim understands. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against his knees as he puts his arms around his head and shoulders.

Here they go. 

He can't see, but is still able to feel Ryder move away from him to lean towards the back of the girl's seat. She keeps saying something, her voice like the water's splash in a shallow creek. Jim breathes in, slow and deep, focusing on how smoothly his chest expands, letting the warm air in. 

Breathe out.

The girl stops talking mid-sentence; something – or someone – distracts her flow. No sound is heard except for the measured noise of the engine until a light knock erupts – like something has fallen from up high and hit a soft pillow.

Jim closes his eyes. Breathe in, then out; nothing could be more simple. The driver's voice gets shrill and piercing as he yells. Jim doesn’t move, counting his breaths like steps in the dark, once again caught in the middle of something terrible.

\- Hey, what are you doing? _What the fuck are you doing!?_

The guy's panicking. Too bad it had never done any good.

\- Get off the road, - Ryder’s tone is a serene contrast, almost soothing, Jim thinks distractedly. He recalls never hearing him raise his voice. - Or I will strangle her.

\- All right, all right! Fuck!

The wheel makes an abrupt turn that has Jim lean to the side, pressing himself against the door. The car still rushes onward, bouncing on the bumps of the road. Jim hears the driver curse under his breath, the continuous flow of words merely amplifying his fear and panic. 

\- I did it! Let her go, I beg you!

\- Keep driving. – A pause, long enough for Jim to get distracted and lost inside the even rhythm of his own breathing. - Now. Slow down.

The car brakes with a heart-tearing squeal, pulling Jim forward by the sheer force of inertia, but he's been ready for it, putting his elbows against the back of the driver's seat. His eyes are open and he sits up slowly, trying not to pay attention to what is happening in front of him - to his right, Ryder tugs on a wire noose slung around the woman’s throat. The choked wheezing sounds she makes are so quiet it’s awfully easy for Jim to ignore them; all the evidence of her agony sinks along the noise of the running engine. A weak echo breaks through every now and then, resembling a distress signal, drowning among the chatter of radio interference. Jim’s sight is fixed on his own hands, his fingers moving slightly. He knows there's nothing he can do. So he won't try. 

\- Well done.

Ryder loosens his grip and the air streams into open airways with a smothered whistle. This is when Jim hears a sharp bone crunch.

\- Jesse! Jesse, baby, what did you do to her –

The woman’s body tumbles down and the guy throws himself at her, clinging to her face, covered by a veil of hair in an attempt to make her look at him. He shakes her body, trying to call it back to life, and Jim knows he hasn't realized she's dead yet. Perhaps he believes in the last flutter of her flesh, leading him further into this illusion, the small contractions of her muscles – the final spasms sent in by her spinal cord, torn in between two vertebrae like they were millstones when Ryder's strong hands tore her neck to the side. He was kind to her, Jim knows this. It's a merciful death.

\- Jesse! Je... - A sharp clap interrupts the desperate scream, like someone has opened a bottle of Coke. Jim doesn't have to see Ryder to realize he's bored, exasperated even. He’s not fond of those who scream, he prefers the ones who fade away quietly, fighting him in silence, while their life drifts from between his palms like helium from a punctured balloon until there's nothing left.

Jim fixes the peak of his cap and opens the door. A long moan follows him out, beginning at the lowest point and rising up higher, like an airplane taking off until a new wet sound cuts it down. Jim's feet sink down he soft, hot sand. Ahead of him, there is a steep slope with a ravine at the bottom, covered with cobblestones of various sizes. Ryder probably marked this place a long time ago, luring them here right from the beginning. That fucking bastard – no. The thought floats through Jim's mind sluggishly and sinks to the bottom. He's too tired to feel anything. 

When he turns around, Ryder has already opened the door on the woman’s side. Jim didn't hear him get out of the car. The seatbelt buckle has tangled in her hair, and Ryder gently unravels it before unceremoniously dragging the body from its seat. Jim knows he has to take care of the driver. He waits a few moments before turning around to reach for the door. He thinks there’s nothing to shake him anymore, but what he sees makes him take a step back either way, his eyes wide open. 

The driver is still alive. The knife protrudes from the base of his neck, with him trying to grab it with trembling fingers, but the attempts fail as his hand always slips to the right. There's almost no blood but two humble red spots on his shirt that draw Jim’s attention, leaving him unable to avert his eyes from the scene. As the horror of it all catches up on him, he tries his best to suppress the feeling and shove it back into his past life where all these things - fears, regrets and pity - still made sense. He's not a bad person, he's a victim like these people who were unlucky enough to let the wrong guy into their car. He's just trying to survive and not go crazy in the process.

Finally, Jim takes a breath and peers at Ryder who has dragged the woman’s body on the ground. He straightens his back and returns the stare.

\- Finish it.

Ryder arches a brow, but his face remains unreadable. 

\- Finish it. - Jim raises his voice slightly. - Please.

Ryder walks around the car silently, his eyes never leaving Jim. He urges him to step back and looks inside the car.

\- Watch how it's done.

He bends over and unbuckles the seatbelt. Jim's ears pick up a barely audible, painful sigh that has the hair on his forearms stand up. Meanwhile, Ryder grabs a handful of the driver's hair and pulls him forward, forcing his body to fall out halfway through the car’s entrance. Then he slams the door shut with force. The blow goes straight to the temple, causing a dry crack followed by silence. Ryder drags the body further, and it falls into the sand with ease. Jim sees a thick stream of blood coming out of the caved area on its head, and steps aside to avoid getting any on his shoes. 

Ryder brings the woman to the bottom of the ravine, and lately they drag the guy down together with Ryder holding him under his armpits while Jim takes the legs.

Jim slips down a slope at some point, almost dropping the body, which earns him a derogatory look. He lowers his head, trying to ignore the sweat that runs down his face from under his cap.

After putting the corpses in a groove between the rocks, they sit down to catch their breath. Jim feels the scabrous, warm surface of a sun-heated stone under his palms. These rocks used to be a haven for a number of petite lizards that scatter away after being approached, and Jim watches them hide between the rocks, admiring their graceful movements and lithe bodies. 

Ryder offers Jim his handkerchief in silence. The latter accepts it, wiping sweat off his forehead while Ryder narrows his eyes, peering somewhere far away.

\- Do we still have any sheets left?

Jim nods briefly, returning the handkerchief. He's not in the mood to talk.

\- Okay. Get it. - A sudden smile then mocks Jim's previous plea. - _Please._

Without saying a word, Jim stands up, and heads up the slope and all the way back to the car. Once he gets in, he slumps on the backseat to welcome a few moments of shelter from the heat outside. If Ryder can manage to stand on the side of the road for hours under the scorching sun, he’ll be patient enough to wait on him a little while longer. Jim's thirsty, and he's sure there should be water in the car somewhere, so he's groping the bag that lies behind the seat. He feels sorry for the couple, but they can't be helped anymore, and he has to deal with it somehow. There’s the familiar stab of remorse every time he’s going through the victims' belongings, yet, in a way, he concludes he has the right to do so - by witnessing their end, he has been closer to them than most people in their lives. Jim drives these thoughts away, opening the zipper and turning the bag over so that a few sealed bottles of water and an opened stack of napkins mixed with some postcards fall on the seat. He takes one bottle and quenches his thirst. As he tightens the lid, his gaze falls onto the cards, and his hand stops its movements.

Jim takes one of them with care, feeling an expensive embossed paper under his fingers. It's a wedding greeting for Jesse and Bob from two weeks ago. From the corner of his eye, he can see the colored rectangles of airline tickets among other things.

He tightens up the lid on the bottle and puts the greeting cards in the bag.

When he comes back, he finds Ryder lying on the rocks, stretched out with his hands tucked behind his head. The heat doesn't bother him at all.

Jim throws the bottle of water at him, secretly hoping to hit his face, but the man quickly opens his eyes and catches it in the air. Jim begins to unwind one of the huge black plastic sheets they have bought from a car service they were passing by.

With no constant supply of oxygen and boiling heat above, the process of decay becomes much faster, the tissue coming off the bones like a loose glove from a hand, leaving only a white carcass, marked by dark spots of internal fat, or so Ryder has told him, and Jim prefers to take his word for a truth. He doesn't really want to check if he's right or not.

When Ryder comes up, his eyes are drilling a hole into Jim’s face. The sun’s glow burns his hair a glorious silver fire, and Jim starts to wonder that maybe he was wrong from the very start, and at Ryder’s core, at the very bottom of his heart he considered to be filled with black tar, there is not darkness, but light.

A light brightly fed by terror, burning the ones it touches like the sun cleanses the bones found in the desert, hollowing the husk of all mortal life. But Jim doesn't feel cleansed, he feels weary, so he shakes these thought away and concludes he might be going mad. It was to be expected, sooner or later.

Ryder pushes the guy's body out of the way with his foot, rolling it closer to the woman, so that their corpses lie in the dust side by side. It might have been endearing, had Jim been under the illusion they were just sleeping – however, the bloody droplets on the rocks and the woman's neck, bent in an unnatural angle, spare no room for illusions. Death is nothing like what Jim had read in the books. He turns around to spread the sheet over one of the bodies.

\- And died in one day, - Ryder says behind his back.

\- You knew? - Jim turns around to throw a glare at him.

\- Knew what? - Ryder shakes the sand off his coat. Jim notices he hasn’t taken a single sip of the water he brought. - That they were newlyweds? Don't tell me you didn't notice the rings on their fingers. So new and shiny.

He nods at the corpses.

\- Don’t you feel even a little sorry? - Jim understands the pointlessness of this question, but wants to hear the answer anyway. He recalls the woman’s face. She seemed so happy. 

\- Sorry? They got what they wanted. Lived happily, even if not for long, and died in one day. What's there to be sorry about?

He comes up to Jim and takes the edge of the sheet, pulling it over the woman's feet with Jim offering him a hateful stare.

\- You're wearing a ring, too. – He mutters after a while. And a man's costume, he adds in mind, but he doesn't have to say such obvious things out loud.

\- We can get you one as well if you’d like. - A wide grin crawls back up Ryder’s features. - But don't assume it'll guarantee you a long, happy life. Just look at these two lovebirds.

He kneels down and puts a handful of rocks in the guy's mouth, big enough to choke him had he been still alive. Ryder straightens up and steps on his lower jaw with force, crushing teeth. He does it over and over again before he finds the result satisfactory, and proceeds doing the same to his fragile bride.

Jim turns away, staring at the big rock at the side. At this angle, it reminds him of a big tortoise with a shell smashed open. The disgusting crack of breaking bones fills the air, and Jim feels something move inside his chest, rising up his throat. Like an embolism - he's heard this word on TV. It occurs when a vial of air appears in a vessel and gets stuck in the lungs, killing the body. That’s probably becomes the reason why he decides to open his mouth and let it out, to release a statement that could kill him eventually, in order not to die on the spot.

\- Sometimes I hate you so much I think I could die from it, - Jim hears his own voice cutting through the air as if it were a thin layer of paper, and he is amazed by his own courage, or stupidity, or whatever it is that compels him to say this aloud. Now he hears only the heavy silence, burdened with a threat ready to break loose upon him. What comes next, however, is a soft chuckle.

\- Only sometimes? – Jim shivers, when the man pats his shoulder. His hand lingers on Jim's body a bit longer that it should. - I should try harder, then.

He smiles; a lazy satisfied grin. In the sunlight, his eyes are shiny crystalline blue. 

\- If you felt so strong about these guys, why didn't you ask me to stop?

Jim gazes at him, not quite understanding the meaning behind the words.

\- You asked me why I am doing this once, but you never asked me to stop. Why is that? - Ryder lowers his voice ever so slightly, balancing on a thin edge of amusement. - Do you think I would stop if you asked me to, Jimmy?

Jim has a feeling they aren't talking about the couple Ryder killed anymore. His voice softens into something else. Jim can't tell what exactly it is, yet he hates this tone, coercing him into a false sense of security – for no matter how much he wants to believe it, he knows better. He stares into Ryder’s eyes, right into the pale ice of his irises, watching the pair of black pulsating dots in their center , and sees them expand as if wanting to take him in and swallow him whole.

There's a sinking sensation in his chest that drops to his stomach, the sudden realization that he has grown too familiar with the oppressing dread of Ryder’s proximity, so that he almost forgets to be scared of him. Jim is wary, yes, but not as afraid as he knows he should be. He peers down from a height – terrified of the fall, yet still unable to believe it would turn out lethal. 

\- Would you? - He finally manages to answer, his voice barely above a whisper.

\- Why don’t you find it out yourself, kid? – Ryder winks at him and goes back to admiring his work. - Maybe next time I'll get you to pull their teeth out one by one. 

***

Jim sits on the hood of the car and observes the stars - hundreds of silvery lights scattered across the horizon with the the moon’s polished plate hanging in the middle. There are so many of them that they blend together, becoming one indistinguishable wave of glow, rippled in lines and stretched from one edge of the skies to the other. Jim has never been interested in stars. Now he regrets it, since watching them has become the only thing that grants him anything that resembles a peace of mind these days.

The soft pad of footsteps echoes in the air. Ryder moves like a ghost if he chooses to do so, a quite amazing feat for a man of his size. This time, however, he lets Jim know his approach in advance. An outstanding courtesy.

\- Anything interesting up there?

\- I'm just watching, - Jim mutters in return.

Ryder sits next to him and gazes in the same direction with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

\- Do you know which one of these stars is the brightest?

Jim shakes his head.

\- Giving up already? Take a closer look.

Ryder remains seated next to him, and Jim skitters aside a little, creating a safe distance between them.

He realizes it's useless, but he feels better this way. Raising his hand, he hesitatingly points to a star that shimmers right before his eyes.

\- This one, perhaps?

Ryder smiles faintly.

\- Wrong guess. - He leans towards Jim, speaking to him in a confident tone. - The brightest star in the Northern Hemisphere is Arcturus. To find Arcturus in the sky, you have to draw an arc through the three stars of the Big Bear's bucket handle. - He takes Jim by the wrist and places his hand in a completely different direction, using it as a pointer. – See? Aliot, Mitsar, Alcaid.

Ryder turns around, dragging Jim along and compelling him to look up. Arcturus does seem pretty bright indeed – certainly brighter than the nameless star Jim has picked out first. Jim watches it attentively, and it seems like the star is winking at him. Ryder talks ahead in the meantime.

\- If you continue this line, you can find Spica, the brightest star in the constellation of Virgo.

Quite ironically, Jim truly finds this interesting. He's not surprised Ryder is so proficient about the topic - after all, Jim doesn't know anything about him. He could have been anyone before becoming a serial killer. 

Ryder stops talking as they both admire the stars with their heads up. Jim tries not to blink, and when the starry whirlpool begins to melt under his gaze like silver ore in a cauldron, he finally lowers his head. And notices how carefully Ryder is examining him, his features graced by an expression Jim is unable to identify, but there is still the intensity of his stare pressed against his skin with tangible gravity. It has Jim remember the two heavy coins he had put on his eyes back in that diner, but before he can force any kind of reaction, Ryder speaks up anew.

\- I have something for you. Open your hand.

After little hesitation, Jim gives in. Ryder holds his palm between his fingers, studying it with strange awe, like a valuable piece of china. Jim tenses up, bracing himself for anything that might come next – Ryder cutting his thumb off, dropping a sticky human eye in the middle of his opened palm, or pulling off something just as disgusting and frightening as both options combined. Instead, Ryder takes something out of his pocket and puts it on his finger. A ring, Jim concludes, feeling the cool touch of metal. The man lets him go, still watching his face intently.

Jim looks at his hand and suddenly he is strucked by the realization that this must be the very ring he has seen on poor Jesse’s hand today. The world blurs a little before his eyes.

It must be some kind of a joke, but Ryder's face is very serious, and frighteningly so. Suddenly he leans forward, covering the starry sky like a huge black storm cloud, and it's too close, too much. Jim feels like something irreparable is about to happen. Large hands rest on both sides of his temples, urging him to raise his head, and a gust of warm breath fans over his cheek. Jim squeezes his eyes shut and holds still, nervously waiting for what happens next, whatever it could be.

At first, he feels warmth; then, the touch. Ryder's dry lips are pressed against his forehead in a chaste kiss. 

When Jim opens his eyelids, the man is still way too close, watching him.

\- Till death do us unite. - He speaks so quietly he might be talking to himself, and Jim might not have heard the words, had the distance between them be a little wider. 

Ryder gets back on his feet and straightens his shoulders. The folds of his coat sway in the air, outlining the contours of his silhouette against the night sky - black on black, like his figure had been cut out from the cloth of existence.

\- Don't stay up too late, - he murmurs and lights up a cigarette, walking away.

Jim probes the ring on his finger, the thin metal already warm against his skin. The ring fits perfectly, but he still feels its weight – too heavy for something this small. He runs a thumb over the surface, discovering some kind of engraving being cut upon it. Jim reaches for his pocket, fumbling within its contents until he finds the lighter and snaps it hastily to life. He fails the first time, but after the second attempt, the flame flares up. Jim lifts the ring closer to his eyes to read the engraving; the words take his breath away. He can still feel Ryder's kiss on his forehead, how it burns his skin. A phantom touch, both a threat and a promise. 

_To death and beyond._

Jim could have laughed at the irony if it weren't for his own lack of breath. He stares at the golden letters until the fire in his hand goes out, leaving him alone in the dark. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UNBETAED. Read at your own risk.

Obviously they'll be sleeping in the car tonight - when he gets off the hood, Ryder's already dozing off behind the wheel, his head resting on the back of the seat. But when Jim opens the door from the passenger's side, he sees a travelling bag, accompanied by a pile of things he's previously collected out of the trunk and the glove box, so he climbs into the back of the car. It gets very quiet and for a while Jim just allows himself to enjoy this moment of peace, allowing the night fill his mind with silence. He throws a glance at Ryder’s profile, painted by darkness across the vast starlit skies – so strangely calm now, almost peaceful. Moonlight pours through the window, placing long pale shadows on the walls and the seats, but Jim can't sleep - he keeps turning around trying to make his body more comfortable and, apparently, he isn’t the only one to deal with the issue. He is immersed in his thoughts, when Ryder's silhouette in the front, impervious as clot of primordial darkness, suddenly sets into motion. The man gets out of the car, and soon he falls into the back seat right next to Jim. The latter turns his head and looks at him questioningly. They sit in the dark, studying each other, until Ryder becomes the first one to break the silence.

\- Did you like my present?

Jim nods. The man studies at him for a long time, his head slightly tilted. He takes a quiet, long breath, full of gentle sadness that Jim doesn't dare to trust.

\- You should have learned how to properly lie before trying that trick on me, kid. - He gestures faintly, pointing at Jim’s hands on his knees. – Yet you still haven't taken it off, now have you.

It's true. Jim hasn't taken it off. He couldn't explain even to himself why he didn't. He was probably too afraid of touch it again, considering the price it was paid for.

Ryder stretches his hand out for Jim’s wrist, capturing it within a strong grip. It's not painful yet, but the hold is strong enough to make anyone feel threatened. 

\- Do you know what always follows a wedding?

\- No, - this time Jim manages to open his mouth. His eyes trail off, avoiding looking the man in the face. 

\- It's followed by a consummation.

With his free hand, Ryder picks up his chin, finally making Jim raise his stare to look at him, and leans down. His face gets very close - Jim makes every effort to sit upright, but still leans back on instinct, feeling the fingers on his jaw squeeze a bit tighter. It seems that Ryder's mouth is about to cover his own – the thought makes him recoil in a hurry, even though he has no space to do so. Ryder tugs on his hand sharply, pulling Jim towards himself - but in the very last moment the man tilts his head a bit more and pecks Jim on the cheek instead of his mouth. The latter flinches upon the touch, and Ryder smiles cunningly, all too pleased with the success of his jest. Jim lets out a quiet sigh, relieved that the whole ordeal turned out to be a sick joke, his tense shoulders are slacking down like the tight string, connecting them to each other, has been set loose. But the very moment he feels Ryder's fingers, still clutching at his face, become willing to let him go, the man forcefully meets Jim’s lips with his own. His tongue invades the pliable mouth, slowly conquering the space within with a militant confidence. Contrary to Jim's expectations, he doesn’t’ taste blood, or ash, or anything like that – he can feel a bit of salt within Ryder’s kiss, but that's all. The man grips him tightly, not allowing a single chance of escape – and Jim groans into his mouth, protesting, but soon goes quiet, having fully realized the futility of his struggle. Ryder's hand lets go of his wrist and falls on his back, climbing under the jacket. Jim is not surprised. He always expected something like this to happen, knowing with his gut that sooner or later Ryder would want to take _this_ away from him as well - whatever _this_ is - just because he _can_. It's not Jim's first kiss, but at the same time it becomes the first. No one else had touched him this way, as if striving to consume him, absorb his body and soul. Finally, Ryder pulls away, watching as Jim wipes his lips in between ragged breaths that escape his mouth. 

\- What is it, - Ryder's hoarse half-whisper grates just like gravel under the wheels of a car, - aren’t you going to ask me to stop?

Jim's doesn’t say anything. His mind is in a whirl, feverishly rushing from side to side under the roof of his skull, but he is still unable to grasp what exactly it is that he should say now. Ryder’s features break into a smile that sets his whole face in pale fire. He guides Jim’s wet lower lip with a finger. He's waiting for retaliation in this game they are playing, and Jim braces himself, getting ready to defend the last border the man hasn't crossed yet. He hisses like a prey animal, chased into a corner:

\- And what would you do if I asked you to? Would you stop? Aren't you a rapist, John? Without this, you won't even be able to get it on, would you?

Jim's voice trembles against his will. He looks into the man's face, trying to figure out if he has made a right bet, and squirms inside when he sees Ryder’s eyes slightly widen. He shrinks, preparing himself to feel a pair of broad hands, clinging to his throat and gripping it with enough force to break the larynx - but Ryder just laughs. There's no sign of displeasure or anger in that sound.

\- I've killed so many people, kid. Do you know how many of them were even younger than you? Do you really think the prospect of becoming a rapist could stop me? 

He said «prospect», so he hasn't done it before, Jim thinks, which means he still has a chance to avoid this - but he doesn't have time to finish the thought, because Ryder pushes him down on the seat, looming threateningly out of the darkness.

\- So, are you ready to check it? What would happen if you told me «no»?

Jim keeps staring back at him, although his breathing is already turning hoarse and labored. Words don't come easily to him and he has to force and spit them out. 

\- I won't give you what you want. Whatever it is.

Ryder laughs quietly, lowering his head as if in disbelief. When he looks at Jim again, he can swear Ryder’s eyes shine like lights on a Christmas tree.

-So that’s my boy. It's a pity I can take whatever I want anyway. 

Ryder presses a palm in between of Jim’s collarbones, fixing him in place, his other hand messing with the belt and buttons on his jeans. The latter wriggles, felling a tickle of fear in his stomach expand into a flood and fill him whole. He scratches the man's wiry wrist, but all the efforts are in vain – soon both his buckle and belt are toppled over, and Ryder yanks his pants down with an unsettling ease. 

The heavy hand, oppressing Jim’s ragged breathing, suddenly disappears, but the next moment Ryder lifts him by the hips and drags his jeans down even further. Jim tries to push him away by kicking the man in the chest, but Ryder captures his ankle, clamping it between his body and the back of the car seat. Jim realizes he's gotten himself into a trap, and it takes him a few moments to comprehend he's completely naked below the waist. He stills, unable to believe all of this is truly happening. 

Ryder watches him like a big curios cat. Except no feral animal could be this threatening. He leans down slowly until his chest is almost pressed against Jim's.

Jim bites his lips. 

\- Let me go. Please.

\- That still doesn't sound like a «no» to me. How soon do you think I would make you scream? - Jim finally raises his eyes to face his captor. John’s lips are still curved into an elegant arch - but now it’s different. There is darkness behind his smile, seeping through the corners of his mouth, and Jim recognizes the vacant expression that comes to surface mostly when Ryder is staring at _them_ , the _drivers._ Jim’s mind lingers a little longer on that thought, as suddenly he realizes that this is exactly the way Ryder perceives everyone but Jim himself, and that understanding causes his heart to fall trough. He feels as the seat he’s pressed into is slipping away under his back. The face he is gazing at lacks the condescending mockery Ryder keeps reserved for him - and him only, his ridicules now seeming infinitely warm compared to this icy cold - as if the stars themselves could have turned into glass and crumble under that frozen stare. Now Jim is truly scared - he has almost forgot what it's like to be afraid like this, to think Ryder would kill and throw him away just like he does with the others. Jim feels terror spreading in his chest, forcing him to take frequent, short breaths. Ryder still looks him right in the eyes without blinking. When the blunt fingers rub carelessly against his crevice, they are completely dry. Jim has never done this before, but he understands and twitches, desperately trying to escape, to unhook the hand holding him in place. Ryder will break him. This car is too small, and he is too big, he'll crush and tear him apart, little by little, an inch by inch. Ryder doesn't talk and doesn't ask him anything. His fingers begin to slowly tease themselves into the tense body, burning the sensitive tissues like sandpaper. To his own surprise, Jim is overwhelmed by a misplaced sense of betrayal, vaguely wondering how much it would hurt to be taken like this. Isn’t he supposed to be special…?

He takes a long, shaky breath to calm his racing heart, and slowly relaxes his grip, releasing Ryder's wrist.

\- Please - he reaches out to Ryder, gently covering the man’s sharp cheekbones with his narrow hands; Ryder has always made fun of how tiny they were compared to his own. - Please, John. It's me.

He doesn’t have the slightest idea if he's doing the right thing, but decides to continue it anyway. His hands are very close to Ryder's eye sockets, and he might try to claw into those terrible icy orbs, take advantage of his only opportunity to slip away - but Jim immediately cuts the thought off, not allowing himself ponder on it so that Ryder doesn't get a chance to sense it. Instead, he caresses the warm skin under his fingers, ignoring just how much his hands are shaking.

\- Please stop. Don't do this.

He stares stubbornly into an impenetrable expression above. Jim's eyes are dry, despite the treacherous tingling of tears, closing upon him. He is sure – well, almost - of what he is doing. Ryder will stop. He wouldn't go that far to break him down like this. He gave him this ring, Jim thinks, and he expects him to give something in return, to offer him a need other than the itch to tear everything apart. 

For a few more moments, Ryder observes him with the same indifferent and distant expression. Then he gently closes his eyes and tilts his head, causing one of Jim's palms to slide through his hair. Jim gasps - the feeling of incredible softness under his fingers takes him by surprise. He guides his palm through the unkempt locks, and Ryder’s eyes slowly open. His face changes again, as if someone had pressed the lever, and the warmth that had left his features rushed right back, driving the cold deep inside - so deep where Jim’s doesn’t dare to follow. Jim's feels the torturous fingers carefully retreat to disappear altogether, allowing him to relax a little.

\- Scared you?

Ryder's smile is growing wider - no, more condescending; _tender_. His voice vibrates with mirth that he’s not too keen on hiding, like it was just another one of his cruel jokes, but Jim doesn't believe what he hears. He saw his face.

\- Get up. – Ryder’s straightens up, rising above him, and offers his hand. Jim takes it with caution, and Ryder gets him up into a sitting position. The jeans and underwear are still hanging around one of Jim's ankles, but he doesn’t rush to pull them back on. He waits, looking at his bare knees, glowing in the dark like bars of pale marble. A few minutes pass like this. Finally, being unable to stand the silence anymore, Jim lifts his head to meets the crystalline stare. Ryder's face is serious again, and Jim's heart skips a beat when he notices it. To his dismay, he's sure Ryder has never taken his eyes off him. 

\- Come here.

Ryder points at his knees fleetingly, and Jim sets in motion to climb up and straddle his lap. He doesn't try to pull away when something hard and large meets his hip, but can’t suppress a shudder when a broad palm falls on his waist, the touch surprisingly warm on his skin.

\- Shh. - Jim feels rather than sees Ryder’s intense stare, fixed upon his face. - One step at a time. Close your eyes.

Jim obeys. He is vaguely grateful for this order. Ryder's proximity drains him, he can't bear to see these eyes this close. He does not resist when the man's other hand touches his lower back, compelling him to move closer. Jim hears the sound of a zipper being opened and holds his breath when Ryder takes his soft cock into his hand, weighing it in his fingers before pressing it against his own, hard and ready. Soon enough, his massive palm slowly starts moving over the both of them. It feels weird. Ryder's palm is rough - but his cock is hot and silky, so the overall sensation is nothing but astonishing. The viscous drops of precum smooth the movement, making it even better, but it's not the feeling itself that sets Jim’s nerves aflame. He doesn't need to watch it to feel how gently he's being handled - he doesn't know why, but this alone is enough to make his breathe flow harder, as if he lacked air, caught in the wave of heat engulfing Ryder’s body. He presses his forehead against the man’s shoulder, feeling the first weak spasm of pleasure at the bottom of his belly. Ryder is unusually quiet - he does not say anything, does not even seem to breathe. Jim tells himself he's allowing all of it to happen solely because of Ryder’s whim and the requirement to compromise - but when a callous finger ghosts over his sensitive tip, he releases a moan – a much louder and extensive one than it should has been - and a heavy palm on his back starts stroking him in a soothing manner. Jim clenches his teeth, but neither because of hurt, nor discomfort - on the contrary, he restrains the desire to thrust into that hand, but resists the urge, allowing Ryder to lead him further. The thought of the people that died at these hands barely crosses his mind and dissolves into the sparks of his dawning pleasure – if anything, it only serves to make them burn brighter; he doesn’t notice when he brought both of his palms rest on Ryder’s shoulders, clawing at him with enough force to bruise. All the tension of the last few days seemed to have gathered within his groin, condensed into a hot, heavy sphere, which becomes lighter and more transparent with every movement. He hears a quite, shaky sigh beside his ear and raises his head in surprise, opening his eyes contrary to what he has been told. Ryder’s face is as impassive as ever, but the pure need he encounters in his eyes is bewildering.

\- Want me to stop? - Ryder's voice sounds calm, but the slight bit of breathlessness gives him away. Jim stays silent, and in response the man squeezes him harder, as if willing to show Jim he is his property, and he has every right to have him. With his eyes down, Jim watches the measured movements of Ryder’s hand between their bodies, entranced by the sight of it: the moist glimmer of the two heavy heads between Ryder’s firm fingers seems to be the most indecent thing he has ever seen. The beads of liquid leaking from his own slit catch his eye, even in the dark he can see they are clear, transparent like tears, shed for the true love’s sake. Jim gasps when Ryder’s lips press onto his temple, sliding down to his neck, breathing hard onto his skin, just as hard as their throbbing cocks are, pressed together in a tight grip.

Ryder's palm, which was resting on Jim lower back before, travels up. He reaches for one of Jim's hands to intertwine their fingers, and it makes the warm weight at the bottom of Jim’s stomach rise up, rolling a wave of sharp, almost painful delight over his body. Jim gasps, bewildered by the intensity of this experience, and allows a muffled groan emanate from his throat as he comes all over Ryder’s fingers and his solid length. It's not the first time, but it's also the first. He barely feels it when Ryder takes his hand - the one with the golden ring flashing mournfully in the dark - and puts it on his cock, covering it with his own fingers. With his eyes half-closed, Jim watches as the man brings himself to the finale; utterly fascinated by the spectacle, he doesn’t look away even for a second.

Afterwards he lies on Ryder’s broad chest, curled up like a child on his lap. The thought seems terrible, given all that has been done between them, but Jim lets it pass by. His bare feet are wrapped within the black coat; Ryder holds him in an embrace, and this is the most normal thing he has done so far. Jim marks this little victory in his mind. He asked a serial killer to stop, and he obeyed – while the price he had to pay was not as high that Jim would refuse to do it again. Again and again, for exactly as long as it needed. As long as he could fight this, he could win. With this thought, Jim wraps himself more tightly in the comforting blackness, allowing his body to relax, for the first time entrusting himself to the strong arms that keep him in place, guarded, secured. Belonging.

Above him, Ryder’s flashes a distant, chilling smile, but soon it fades, as he closes his eyes and pretends to succumb to the darkness outside rather then within. 


End file.
